Your Words Will Always Be

“It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.” ~ Gabriel García Márquez

Death can’t take
the tales you gave me.
Your words will
always be
part of the girl I once was,
of the crone I’ll be.

.
a
(not so) wee note…
Gabriel García Márquez was the first writer who made me admire the magic that can be conjured out of words. His novels, essays and short stories inspired me to ask difficult questions about people, about society and about myself. Decades later, I am still asking… and learning. If he hadn’t walked through The Veil in 2014, he would’ve turned 90-years-young today. I suspect he is still enjoying himself, telling stories to angels and demons… And if dying didn’t change him, he is probably terribly pissed off because Death kept him from living during this time of socio-political chaos. It’s not that Gabo loved trouble, just that his muse was so good at turning turmoil into magical realist art that made most people think.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

Every time I look at this candle (thank you, Rommy!), I grin… and wonder if Gabo is also grinning at the sight of himself as “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings”.
Happy Birthday, mi querido Gabo.

Rip Their Throats

White Trash: The 400-Year Untold History of Class in America, by Nancy Isenberg, is not an easy read. The experience left me angry, sad, with a mouth full of screams. It made me wonder if society will ever look in the mirror, examine the horror it has spawned, and take responsibility for the destruction. If you’ve yet to read the book, do give it a go. It will not be fun, but it will be terribly real… and it might put important issues in perspective.

I chose one quote out of the gazillion I highlighted, and ripped a short poem out of it:

“Rip Their Throats”

rip their throats, dear friends,
or they’ll swallow all our air
and shit in our land.
don’t suffer a leech to breathe,
you are not bloodsucking filth

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the wee notes…
– This is the rather unnerving quote that inspired the poem: “Poor whites are still taught to hate—but not to hate those who are keeping them in line. Lyndon Johnson knew this when he quipped, ‘If you can convince the lowest white man that he’s better than the best colored man, he won’t notice you’re picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he’ll empty his pockets for you.’”
– And if this poem leaves you feeling a bit sick, welcome to the discomfort club.
– Linked to Poets United (Poetry Pantry) and to my Diversity Reading List for 2017.

“Anger”, by Jelizaveta
via

In Gloom

Six Elders approved, six thought roads were death to the land. The choice would be hers.

Her animal had seen what progress did to wolf in the south, heard the weeping of trees.

“We’ll cut trees”, the businessman addressed the grove, “but it’s a win-win. Roads mean jobs for your people, and our clients will gain easier access to our resort.”

My people need work, she thought. “No trees, no people”, her animal growled back.

Help me, Mother. She looked up, and watched a thick cloud slither between sun and soil, shrouding the trees in gloom. “No roads”, she said.

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the wee notes…
– Linked to Friday Fictioneers. Visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog, to join the creative fun. Follow this LINK, to read what others have written out of the sun, clouds, trees…

photo by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields